


The Not-So-Dying Doctor

by MsJackofAllFandoms



Series: 30 Day Writing Challenge 2011 [23]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, John is sick, John may have a tropical disease, Sarah Sawyer is a damn good doctor, Sherlock cares really, Slash if you squint, set during series 1, sick-fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-17
Updated: 2011-09-17
Packaged: 2018-09-28 08:18:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10081175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsJackofAllFandoms/pseuds/MsJackofAllFandoms
Summary: The word for this fic was fever, so I gave John a very bad bout of the flu. Or is a tropical disease?





	

_Fever: fee-ver_  
/ˈfivər/  
–noun  
1) an abnormal condition of the body, characterized by undue rise in temperature, quickening of the pulse, and disturbance of various body functions.  
  
2) an abnormally high body temperature.

 

  
  
He felt hot. He felt hot and sweaty and tired and, if he was going to die, this was not the time and place he wanted to do it.  
  
He survived secondary school with Harry, he survived Afganistan, he survived being tied up in a vest of Semtex by a madman, for god sakes. And then he got blew up and shoved in to a pool to boot. He survived that, too.  
  
But now, here he was, pushing forty and dying of some tropical disease. It was all Sherlock's bloody fault.  
  
Talking of the Consulting Detective... “John, you're a doctor. You know very well you're not dying of some tropical disease.”  
  
Sherlock was stood at the doorway. John couldn't see him, his eyes were closed, but the door had opened and no one had walked in. 'Perfect,' he thought, 'I get the hand of this deducing stuff on my death bed.'  
  
He couldn't say anything, his throat felt too inflamed, so he groaned instead. A manly, protesting groan.  
  
“I know you're feeling like death warmed up, but is there a need for the whining?”  
  
Sherlock stepped in to the room and placed something on John's bedside table. “A cup of tea, there, and two paracetamols. Do you feel up to eating something?”  
  
'Food?' John thought, 'Who can think of food at a time like this?'  
  
A cool hand touched his head. It felt like it was leaving a trail of something cool behind as moved to hold his cheek. He opened his eyes in surprise and instantly regretted it as the bright light in the room caused a stabbing sensation in his head.  
  
“You're too warm.” Sherlock's voice was quiter, softer than it was when he was stood at the door. “John? John can you hear me? I think you have a temperature.”  
  
They sounded like words to John, but they didn't make any sense.   
  
“John, we've got to get you cooled down. I'm going to have to take the duvet off you.”  
  
John groaned again. That sounded like it involved moving, and John was too busy feeling like he was dying to move.  
  
“I don't like repeating myself.” Said Sherlock, before tugging the duvet off him. “I'll get a cold cloth for your head, and then I'll call the surgery. I don't have a clue what i'm doing.”  
  
If John had been able to talk, or move, or understand much of what was going on, he'd have been able to tell Sherlock that, for someone who didn't have a clue what he was doing, he was doing quite well. As it was, John was too ill, too hot, to near-death to do any of that, so he just grunted and rolled on to his side. The air in the room felt so cold against his skin.  
  
He wanted his duvet back.   
  
  
  
He must have drifted off to sleep, because the next thing he was aware of was being helped to sit up by someone who was definitely not Sherlock. He now had a thin sheet covering him and his room was darker too, which made opening his eyes a bit more pleasant.  
  
“John?” Sarah asked, getting his attention. “Good to see you awake at last. How are you feeling?”  
  
There was a sigh from the end of the bed. That was definitely Sherlock. “He thinks he's dying of some tropical disease, how do you think he's feeling?”   
  
Sarah's smile faulted, “It's just a very bad case of the flu, probably made worse by chasing criminals and getting caught in the rain.”  
  
Sarah moved away from the bed, causing John to shiver at the loss of contact.   
  
“He hasn't drunk anything all day and look! John, do you understand what we are saying?”  
  
John nodded. He tried to talk but his throat still felt raw.   
  
“Oh. Well, he couldn't earlier.”   
  
Sarah passed him luke warm cup of something that smelt vaguely like lemsip, but with his bunged up nose he could be drinking anything and he'd never be able to tell. “Drink this slowly. Sherlock's put a bin by the side of your bed in case you throw up.”  
  
Sherlock sighed again, “Not _in case_ he throws up. _Because_ he's thrown up! Twice. Pattern of ingestion and output so far suggests everything he ingests he will bring right back up.”   
  
John took a tentative sip of the drink. He was right, he couldn't taste anything, and the sensation of liquid going down his throat felt horrible. He couldn't remember Lemsip ever feeling like that before, so he assumed it wasn't Lemsip, despite it's suspiciously similar colour. He hoped the sensation would get better because if he really was going to live, he planned to eat again at some point.  
  
“Stick to them for today, and as many cups of teas as you can handle, and maybe tomorrow you'll feel well enough for some soup or toast.”  
  
John nodded again. The repeated movement was beginning to get tiresome.  
  
“Any hallucinations? Visual disturbances?”  
  
He shook his head.  
  
“Good. Your temperature is on it's way back down, at least.” She turned to Sherlock, who was leaning on the wall at the end of John's bed, “In about fifteen minutes take his temperature again. If it's anything above 38 degrees, get another cold cloth and try to cool his head down. Take his temperature again five minutes after that. If it hasn't changed, take the sheet off him.”  
  
“You're the one who put it on him.”  
  
Sarah looked back at John, smiling tightly. “If you start to feel any worse again, let Sherlock know. It really is just the flu but you've been hit badly with it. Better be safe than sorry.”  
  
John nodded again. He tried for a smile of thanks, or maybe even apology for the lack of conversation on his part, but even he could tell it came out as a pathetic grimace.   
  
“I'll have to get back to the surgery. Drink that up before it goes cold.”   
  
She gave him a squeeze on the arm and picked up her doctor's bag. Sherlock lead her out of the room, leaving John alone with the cup of I-Can't-Believe-It's-Not-Lemsip-Or-Is-It. He still felt tired, sweaty and too hot, but now with a hint of 'quite pathetic' on top. He wasn't sure whether he believed Sarah's diagnosis of flu. She was quite the good doctor, but he still felt so ill. It could be a tropical disease.  
  
A sigh alerted him to the return of Sherlock. “How many times do I have to say? It is not a tropical disease.”  
  
John glared lazily at him.  
  
“I know you're the doctor, but three hours ago you couldn't even sit up. Forgive me if I think your medical judgement is somewhat impaired.”  
  
Sherlock walked over to the bedside table and picked up a box from it. “You best hurry up and drink that. I have to take your temperature in ten minutes.”  
  
John looked down miserably at the mug. The mixture had started seperating and the site of it made his stomach turn. Or maybe it was all a hallucination, which would be further proof-  
  
“No, that's not a hallucination. It really does seperate upon cooling. Talking of cooling, seven minutes until I take your temperature.”  
  
'Yep,' John thought, 'definitely a tropical disease and hallucination. Sherlock almost sounds like he cares.'  
  
Sherlock sighed again and placed a cool hand on John's head, which felt vaguely familiar. “That is because I do. Now really, finish that up. I have to take your temperature in a little over five minutes.”

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written fro my 30 Day Writing Challenge. The word was "Fever", and I do like a good sick fic!


End file.
